


strangers to suffering

by irltooru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Enemies, M/M, Sad, Soldier AU, War, they just met, this is confusing i'm really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irltooru/pseuds/irltooru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you stop? I’m not going to fucking kill you, for fuck’s sake!”<br/>Tooru stopped smirking for a second and attempted to sneer, looking like pitiful, wounded puppy rather than a fearsome wolf. “Quit playing around. If you’re supposed to kill me, then just do it.” He gritted his teeth as he slowly tried to sit up, a hand pressed tight to his abdomen.<br/>Iwaizumi frowned, actually looking concerned. “Are you hurt?”<br/>“We’re on a fucking battlefield, Iwa-chan. Why else would you think that I was lying here in the first place?”</p><p>(Or: two losers meet each other and fall in love despite the worst situation possible)</p>
            </blockquote>





	strangers to suffering

**Author's Note:**

> thought of this plot during english class & I teared up a little.  
> unedited. please let me know if you find any mistakes.

He thought maybe if he stayed down, nobody would notice him. Maybe they’d assume that he was dead, just another body amongst the many that lay on the muddy stretch of land. Tooru knew that his injury wasn’t critical, and he could probably stand up, press a hand against the weeping wound, and continue fighting like he had been trained. He knew that he could continue.

But he was tired.

He wasn’t only physically tired. True, he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before, but the mental exhaustion consumed him. The deaths of his friends weighed heavy on him, and the amount of death he’d witnessed did have a consequence on his mental stability.

So he chose to let his face press against the muddy ground, glad that his helmet protected his close-cropped hair from the mud. He closed his eyes, curling around the dull pain that throbbed in his torso. He let himself have a moment of peace, a respite from the screaming, fire, guns, blood, and death.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter when he felt the thump of another body falling onto the mud only a few inches away from him. He doesn’t want to see the glassy, glazed eyes of another devastated life. He curled up tighter, holding back a whimper as a fresh wave of warm red flowed from his injury, plastering his uniform to his sweaty flesh.

“Hey, you’re not dead,” a voice remarked dryly.

_Oh._

Tooru’s eyes flew open, and he winced as the grimy light flooded his sight. He gave himself a second or two to focus, struggling to adjust to the harsh daylight of the smoggy battlefield. Panic surged through his veins as he realized who the owner of the voice was.

An enemy soldier, tanned skin matted with dirt and blood. He also happened to be the person lying down in the mud next to Tooru. His first instinct was to jump up, scramble away, and nail him straight in the temple with his rifle, which was on the ground next to him. His muscles tensed as he tried to move, which sent a fresh wave of pain over him. Tooru groaned and found himself back on the ground, unable to move.

_It was worse than he thought._

Through the haze of agony, Tooru remembered the pair of brown eyes staring at him.

“What’s your name?”

Tooru gasped, hands grasping emptily at the mud, searching for his rifle. The enemy soldier repeated the question, and when Tooru didn’t answer, clamped onto his forearm in an attempt to quell his frantic searching.

“What’s your name?” He asked again.

Tooru finally stilled, breaths coming in gasps.

Tooru definitely wasn’t ugly. In fact, back when he was in high school, the girls had gone crazy over him and his cheeky smirk.

He plastered the same smirk on his face right now, managing a small chuckle.

“What, do you want to know the name of every person you kill…?” Tooru glanced at the name printed on the other soldier’s helmet. “…Iwaizumi Hajime?”

“Dumbass,” The man that Tooru now knew as Iwaizumi scowled. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Tooru rolled his eyes in sarcastic excitement. “I’m Oikawa, and I’m totally prepared for my imminent death!”

“Can you stop? I’m not going to fucking kill you, for fuck’s sake!”

Tooru stopped smirking for a second and attempted to sneer, looking like pitiful, wounded puppy rather than a fearsome wolf. “Quit playing around. If you’re supposed to kill me, then just do it.” He gritted his teeth as he slowly tried to sit up, a hand pressed tight to his abdomen.

Iwaizumi frowned, actually looking concerned. “Are you hurt?”

“We’re on a fucking _battlefield,_ Iwa-chan. Why else would you think that I was lying here in the first place?”

Iwaizumi bristled for a second at the nickname Tooru had slapped on, and was going to say something about it when Tooru doubled over, coughing. He pressed his free hand to his mouth, and when he drew it away, it was covered with sticky red strings of mucus and blood. Tooru’s eyes widened as he stared down at his hand, incredulous. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed,” Iwazumi said gruffly. “You’re hurt pretty bad.”

Tooru’s face paled. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Lie down.”

Tooru obeyed, still in shock. Iwaizumi fumbled around his pockets and pulled out a mini first-aid kit, cracking it open and setting it down on the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi emptied the small container of alcohol swabs, and located the gauze.

“Don’t call me that!” Oikawa frowned, but he was unable to keep the small smile off of his face. Iwaizumi noticed but didn’t show it, instead moving to undo the zippers and Velcro straps the secured the front of Tooru’s combat jacket. Half of the material was already slashed off, so it was easy work. He opened the front, revealing a bloodied cotton t-shirt. The material was soaked through with crimson from around the chest area to the lower hem, a huge slit ripped through the middle. After the blood-soaked material was pushed up safely out of the way, Iwaizumi reached for Oikawa’s undershirt.

“Wait,” Tooru gasped, pushing at Iwaizumi’s hand. “Iwa-chan, wait.”

“Dude, you’re bleeding out. Can _you_ wait?”

Tooru shook his head as best as he could with his helmet weighing him down. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Shut up.”

Tooru’s mouth clamped shut, and he swallowed his words and let the gears in his head grind.

Tooru bit the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering when Iwaizumi peeled his undershirt off, leaving him exposed to the filthy air. Iwaizumi gasped a little when he saw the redness, the gash that was viciously torn across his abdomen. It was swollen and inflamed already, and quite deep. Dangerously deep. Out of the corner of his eye, Tooru saw Iwaizumi pull out a small towel from another pocket and proceed to dab carefully around the wound, apologizing quietly every time Tooru sucked in a breath because he got too close.

He ripped open the first alcohol wipe and paused. “Are you ready?”

Iwazumi knew that a single small alcohol wipe from a _mini first-aid kit_ would absolutely not suffice. He’d have to use most of them to clean the wound decently, and he knew that planned pain was worse than “surprise pain”.

He took the wipe and experimentally prodded around the gash, watching Oikawa’s face carefully. There was no reaction, so he unfolded the wipe as far as it would go and used the surface area to wipe along the length of the wound. Oikawa grunted, biting his bloodied lip. His eyes stung at the new pain, tears collecting and snaking a wet trail down his dusty face. Iwaizumi repeated this process with several more wipes, until the majority of his supplies were depleted and Tooru’s wound cleaner than it had been before. _Not medical-grade clean, but it’ll do._

“You’ll need stitches for that,” Iwaizumi murmured as he pulled out the gauze. “I’ll bandage it temporarily, but when you get back to base, make sure you get stitched up, alright?”

Oikawa made the mistake of looking at Iwaizumi as he nodded. The other man’s brown eyes were warm, and his lips were curved upwards in a small smile. Even under his helmet, Iwaizumi’s face was handsome and Oikawa mentally slapped himself.

_Oh, shit. He’s hot._

Tooru couldn’t stop wishing for a different situation in which they would have met. Maybe at a local café somewhere, or anywhere just as cheesy. Anywhere but this vast stretch of mud, with the dead scattered around. Anywhere but here. He almost started crying when he felt Iwaizumi’s hands, rough and warm despite the exhaustion, move across his chest as he threaded and tightened the gauze.

Tooru wished that he wasn’t injured, wasn’t lying there in the middle of a battle, pretending to be dead.

He gaze fanned out, and he took in the scene from where he lay on the ground, Iwaizumi Hajime’s hands roaming over his body in the least sexual way, and definitely not in the way he would have preferred.

Tooru wished that most of the dead bodies didn’t have the insignia of his army on them. Iwaizumi’s army was winning. _Tooru would probably die today._

So that’s why, upon this realization, Tooru pushed Iwaizumi’s hands away before he could finish securing the gauze and bandages.

That’s why he sat up, ignoring the fresh burst of pain in his middle, and grabbed the front of Iwaizumi’s jacket.

And that’s why Oikawa Tooru pulled Iwaizumi Hajime close and pressed his mouth against his.

Iwaizumi made a noise in the back of his throat, it was part gasp, part whimper. He stayed still for a second, on his knees with Oikawa’s lips pressed against his.

And then he was kissing him back with fervor, fingers fumbling to undo the clasp of Tooru’s helmet and raking through his short brown hair. Tooru tilted his head to gain purchase, kissing Iwaizumi deeper and deeper. When they finally parted, both men’s cheeks were flushed, lips pink and swollen, breathing heavily.

“What was that for?” Iwaizumi muttered quietly, shutting his first-aid kid and placing it back into his pocket.

Oikawa didn’t reply. He slumped back onto the mud, light brown hair staining with dark now that there’s no helmet in the way. He closed his eyes and breathed in the dusty air. A few seconds passed, punctuated by the barrage of gunshots and cannons. Screams and shouts echoed in the distance.

“Hajime.”

The sound of Iwaizumi’s given name startled him, and he looked down at Oikawa with shock. “Oikawa, I…”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, I j-”

“Will you kill me now?” Tooru asked, face completely blank. Gone was the seductive smirk, the sarcastic grin. There was nothing there. _He was serious._

Hajime looked at him, at those big brown eyes that would have held a lot more life if they hadn’t witnessed so much death, at his close-cropped hair that would have looked absolutely wonderful if he was allowed to grow it out, at his pert nose, at his plump lips, at the chiseled muscles on his chest and at the bandages on his abdomen. Hajime wished that they could have met in another situation, too.

He found himself bending over Oikawa, down until their foreheads were pressing together, breathing each other in. The scent of blood, sweat, and smoke mingled in their noses.

Oikawa’s eyes were glassy, glazed over with tears that were spilling, overflowing, running to the ground. “Please, Hajime.”

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

“Kill me, Haijime. Please kill me.”

Iwaizumi’s lower lip trembled, and he felt the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head and he saw Oikawa clench his jaw.

“Why the fuck won’t you kill me?” Oikawa sobbed, tears rolling down and snot bubbling. “Why? I’m ready, just fucking do it already. I’ll die anyway…”

He continued babbling through his tears as Iwaizumi watched helplessly, emotions overflowing. He thought of kissing him to shut him up, but Oikawa had covered his face now, screaming silently into his hands.

“Tooru!”

A shout amidst the exchange of gunfire was heard, and Iwaizumi looked up to see one of Oikawa’s comrades run up. He had a scowl plastered on his face, and a dark line on his both of his lower eyelids. Iwaizumi couldn’t tell whether it was legitimate eyeliner or if it was natural.

Iwaizumi was suddenly very aware of his uniform.

Which belonged to this man’s enemy, and what he’s been shooting at for the past six hours.

Oikawa propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see Kyoutani shove his sidearm against Iwaizumi’s temple.

The sound of the bullet entering and exiting Iwaizumi Hajime’s head would echo in Tooru’s ears forever.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry I kind of half-assed the second half, I wrote it with a headache


End file.
